


hide your fires

by Oparu



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/F, dating is strange across the multiverse, feelings are much scarier than sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 12:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14261460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: Philippa’s bored, and a little lonely, so she breaks into Afsaneh’s quarters with dinner. It ends up being far more dangerous than she ever thought possible.





	hide your fires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ericine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericine/gifts).



> Philippa's scariest enemies are her own feelings, and I love her, and Afsaneh, who might sound a lot like Avasarala, but I love them both. 
> 
> Thanks for Rikerssexblouse for holding my hand.

_"Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.”_

* * *

 

Starfleet security, even for their fancy space stations, is predictably laughable. Her ID is barely checked when she arrives in spacedock. She's given barely any instructions for beaming down. Her fancy new Section 31 ID is barely glanced at as she passes through the docking rim. This Federation was just at war and yet she could take the space station with a starship and a few torpedoes. The _Charon_ could have taken over the whole United Federation of Planets.

That's not really the point, but it gives her something to think about while she waits. Even here, on Afsaneh's precious station, her apartment is simple to break into. Her security code is the same, some of the art is the same, but the Betazoid painting on the wall catches her interest. Her Afsaneh only collected Terran art, mostly Persian style, repeated patterns, reflections.

This is different. So colorful.

Like the rest of this damn universe. Everything's bright, cheerful and soft. Phillipa had to change her outfits just to fit in as she traveled through these strange places. Earth is by far the strangest. Unlike her jewel of the Empire, this Earth is swarming with aliens. Vulcans live in Paris, Tellarites in Russia, and Andorians love Antarctica. She heard whispers of them building a new Betazoid embassy in Colombia. Luckily, it's easy to blend in, wrap up her leather in a bright scarf.

Smile. Be nice, calm, and carefree.

It's almost painful.

Afsaneh, of course, is late to return to her quarters, buried in work. There's no Imperial Senate for her to sway, or politicians for her to threaten. She's probably trapped doing something tedious, health inspections, cultural responsiveness... Is it as rewarding, keeping this Federation safe from itself while it bumbles through, crippled by its ideals?

Setting her badge down near the door, Afsaneh unzips her uniform jacket and sighs, leaving it on the sofa. That little scar on her arm is different. Perhaps from her time in one of their little wars. She walks towards the kitchen, PADD in hand. Barely aware of her surroundings, as she reads her PADD, and not even the candles on the table make her look up.

"It's a very good thing I'm not an assassin."

"If you were, I wouldn't need to make sense of this security report."

Philippa takes the PADD from her hands, tossing it to the sofa with her jacket. "Why bother with security at all when your Federation is the most insecure mockery of a functioning government I've ever seen and the Mintakans will probably conquer you."

"They haven't discovered iron."

"When they do, you're undefended so look out."

Afsaneh chuckles, actually smiles and rolls her neck left to right to smooth out the tension. "You know, you can tell me when you're coming."

"That takes the fun out of it."

"Life without an empire's pretty dull, isn't it?"

"It's interesting to be no one. Philippa Georgiou is dead, officially, unofficially I happen to look a lot like her and other than adoring children who've watched too many comm news reports from the war and have a hero, I slip through your universe perfectly unnoticed."

"Don't hurt any of my ships."

"I didn't hurt any of your little ships."

"Or make me send Michael after you." Sitting down at the table in her black tank, Afsaneh reaches for her hair, pulling it down from the bun. She sighs again, leaning over the table. "Where did you find _char kway teow_?" Her pronunciation is a little off, but she tries. Her Afsaneh's was always perfect, but Philippa had more time to teach her how to use her mouth properly. This version might require a few lessons.

"I visited Earth, your perfect paradise of peace and safety."

Afsaneh starts serving herself, starving as always. "And stole spices and vegetables? How terrifying you are, Emperor."

Rolling her eyes, Philippa pours the wine. "I wanted to see my home."

"It's beautiful."

"There were aliens on the beaches."

"Pulau Langkwai is a popular tourist destination."

"I sat on the cable car with a school group of Betazoid children who couldn't keep their thoughts out of mine."

"They're learning." Afsaneh takes a sip of her wine and grins, her lips far darker and more dangerous than the wine. "How did you keep from scaring them to death?"

Now she's the one who needs wine. Thinking of two people makes her thoughts calm enough to pass in this universe: Michael and Afsaneh. She lets the wine warm her belly, and looks down before she answers. "I thought of Michael when she was their age, and you, raising your children."

"How many do I have?"

Philippa sets down her chopsticks, meeting Afsaneh's dark eyes. "There were three, one died in an attempt on your life, one served me faithfully until her death in combat and the last tried to kill you."

Blinking as she takes that in, Afsaneh lifts her glass in a mocking toast. "Here they're both alive and neither has tried to kill me, yet, I suppose, though I doubt it."

There they are, on the holo sitting on the bookshelf. The father is a different man, not the one Afsaneh's mother chose for her, but someone she would have married for love. Though his absence from Afsaneh's life now suggests that it faded.

"You were there, at their births, when I realised I carried them, even when we were both married, you have always been at the front of my heart."

"The other me."

"She's there, even though you try to be so cold and calcucating, I see her."

"That's impossible."

"I would have said that about good _char kway teow_ on Starbase Nineteen, and you've already proved me wrong." Afsaneh takes another bite, smiling around her chopsticks. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to get my old lover back."

"Good." She returns to eating, less interested in the dead version of herself than the woman sitting across from her.

"But, I will admit I'm certainly intrigued by you."

"Oh?"

"Most people who want to see me again just leave a message, send me flowers."

"I could go steal some from the arboretum while you eat desert."

Afsaneh's eyes are so dark they could swallow stars and that smile is a light across universes. She knows it. She shouldn't. This is not her home, nor her lover, but she's a kindred creature, someone who understands her. Afsaneh knows who she is and has no fear, no hatred.

Only desire. She's intrigued when she licks her lips like that.

"We're out of wine," Afsaneh says, lifting the bottle. "Unless you brought more."

"We'll have to drink yours."

"Pity. I think you have more expensive taste."

Empty plates and empty glasses sit between them, taunting them. Do they stay here or do they engage in something they'll both regret? Will they even?

"You look at me like she did."

"I do?"

"It's the way your eyes shine, how you can't stop looking at my mouth." Afsaneh stands, resting her hands on the table. "It's really quite charming."

Philippa leaves her chair, circling the table until she can touch the bare skin of Afsaneh's arm. This universe thrives on emotion, connection, interdependence. She can't rule, she can't murder nearly as much as she'd like, and without Michael, she's alone.

Afsaneh's just as alone, even with her children and her ex-husband, and her starbase is so much easier to reach than one of Starfleet's favorite ships. Though, she'll have to cause some kind of trouble to see Michael soon. Just to make sure the unpalatable Kelpian has treated her well, and that she's happy.

Afsaneh tenses just a little, not to fight but with intrigue, leaning close to Philippa's neck. "How do you smell so good coming from a stolen Orion death trap?"

"Magic."

Reaching out to touch her hair, Afsaneh sighs. "You smell like her."

"We grew up in the same city, perhaps she smells like me."

"We went to Langkwai many times, my Philippa and I, and she showed me everything. We walked along the beaches, sat together in the surf. She used to stick flowers in her hair and we'd find them crushed in the bed in the morning." Afsaneh strokes for her hair, losing her reticence.

Philippa can't resist. "Does that mean you prefer to be on top?"

The gentle flush of pink across Afsaneh's face is so different from her Senator, her weapon, her master of intrigue.

"It's not a firm preference."

"Good."

Afsaneh chuckles, dropping her hands to her hips. "So that's why you're here?"

Running her fingers across Afsaneh's cheek, Philippa winks. "And dinner."

"Dinner seems to be finished." Afsaneh takes one step back towards the bedroom. "Unless you brought desert."

"I thought you might provide that."

That gets her. Afsaneh chuckles, then places a hand on her chest, her fingers warm through the leather. Philippa's heart does not respond to much, she's worn it down over the years, but now she's tantalized. She wants, and this version of her beloved she has never tasted, never known. Will she sound different at climax? Do her nails feel the same on her back?

"That's rather forward of you."

"I thought you'd appreciate a lack of bullshit."

"I like someone who knows what the fuck she wants."

"And if it's you?"

Afsaneh slides her fingers up to Philippa's neck, beaming. "Then we get along just as well as I thought we would."

"You're not afraid of being conquered?"

Afsaneh back further towards the bedroom, guiding her along. "Who says you're going to be doing the conquering?"

Philippa laughs, but her throat's tight with desire.  The teasing is fun, but she wants and the wordplay is only an appetizer. A taste... She presses a little and Afsaneh pushes back, shoving her against the wall. It's not the bedroom, but the hand on her stomach means it doesn't matter. Afsaneh strokes her chin, staring at her as if stripping her defenses with her eyes. When they kiss it's measured, calm, feeling each other out, tasting.

She tastes the same, and her lips have the same heat. There's none of the thrill of danger, the threat. This Afsaneh would never kill her, wouldn't even hurt her, and that hasn't been a trait in one of her lovers for more years than she wants to remember her way back.

The fear in the back of her throat is a new one, sharper than the wine or Afsaneh's lipstick. This doesn't have to hurt, won't end in death, and Afsaneh knows her.

Even loved her.

The other her might not have been tough enough to stay alive, but she risked things Philippa never has. Afsaneh nibbles her neck and her heart thuds. Maybe it's worth trying it, just this once. One night of vulnerability, a dalliance with the foreign concept of trust. She hasn't had enough to drink for that. There might not be enough wine on the station for that.

"Wonder where this goes." Afsaneh strokes the zipper on the front of her leather jacket. "Another corset?"

"I knew I was visiting you."

She pouts, and the purr in her throat is obscene. "And I only have my uniform."

"I think you wear it best."

"Not Kat, or Ensign Killy?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you."

Afsaneh nips at her shoulder, peeing leather from her arm as the jacket slips off. "I thought it might make you feel more at home."

"Would you really like to know what the other you did to my lovers that she disapproved of?"

"I can imagine that, but I'd rather imagine other things she might have been good at." Afsaneh runs her thumb over her breasts, devouring the corset with her eyes. "Or did you hold her down?"

"Only when she asked me too." When Afsaneh begged, she was so much fun. That was all a game, ploys and counter ploys, teasing and pushing boundaries to see how long they could trust each other, even they even could. This is exploration, feeling out the stars, and that is part of the other her, the ghost who smiled with her heart naked.

Afsaneh kisses her again, then steps back, pulling her tank over her head. That bra is definitely not Starfleet, it's too blue, too lacey, but the view it provides could rival sights from her former empire.

"I thought you might like that." Now Afsaneh turns, walking into the bedroom. "Computer, lights to four." It's hardly candle light, or the rare glowing crystals of Aenar, but in any light, watching Afsaneh step out of her trousers is a beautiful sight.

Turning to face her, arms crossed beneath her incredible breasts, Afsaneh smiles again. "Are you waiting for a formal invitation or a sign of weakness?"

"Are you trying to decide which I'd prefer?"

"I'm trying to decide if I want to rip the laces on that thing or undo it slowly." She stalks forward, wrapping her arms around Philippa's neck. "Though I like you staring at me."

"Good."

"Leather suits you." She takes another kiss, fitting their mouths together with more hunger. This time her tongue's insistent, forceful, and Philippa gasps. Her corset is too tight to breath in. That's why she's a little lightheaded, must be. "But I want it gone."

Chuckling, Philippa allows her to removes her trousers, and in that shuffle they fall to the bed, lying tangled on top of sheets too smooth to be Federation. "You do like expensive things."

"These?" Afsaneh props herself up on an elbow, eyes bright. "I might have gotten them as a gift, from a very charming trader that happened to be oh-so-terrible with her paperwork."

Her little indiscretions, tiny breaches in protocol, make her so much more intriguing. She's bent the rules for years within her Starfleet bonds, not for personal gain, or ambition, it seems that Afsaneh Paris wants to have a little fun with her life.

Philippa surrenders to another kiss, leaning down over her until Afsaneh flips them, using her legs to place Philippa on her back. She straddles her hips, beaming down. "Letting your power go to your head?"

"Only when it gets me something I want."

Her Afsaneh would tear the corset off with a knife, maybe nick her skin just to remind her that she was not to be trifled with. This one takes her time, letting her hair fall over her shoulders, heavy like her breasts. She's beautiful, dark and and teasing, profoundly unafraid.

Unlike the knife's edge she expects at her throat, there's no sting in her eyes, or her hands, only warmth and unfettered desire.

"Take it off."

Philippa reaches for her corset, but Afsaneh shakes her head.

"My bra. You can't stop staring at it."

"I love that this was beneath your uniform all day and you didn't know I was coming."

Afsaneh trails her hand down Philippa's chest, then grabs the corset right between her breasts, dragging her up to kiss her. "Who says I didn't know?"

She has too many questions, but Afsaneh kisses her again, taking her chance to demand answers. Her fingers find the laces of her corset, untying that with skill not out of place in her universe. Perhaps her fingers are just always nimble. Removing her bra is simple in comparison, it snaps free and gently, Philippa eases it off of her breasts. Teasing her nipples distracts Afsaneh enough for her to fumble.

"Naughty."

Afsaneh runs her teeth along her neck and before she can concentrate again, her corset's off, hitting the floor beside that delicate blue bra. Afsaneh sucks her breasts, rubbing her fingers across her panties, taunting, teasing, and the fabric's out of place, they should be naked, she should be able to taste her.

"Let me," Afsaneh insists. "Let me." She stands, removing her own panties. She pauses for a moment, golden and beautiful in the weak light. She doesn't have Afsaneh's scars, and that one on her ribs is new. The little silver lines on her stomach speak of her children. She eases the last shred of clothing down, then bends, pulling them from Philippa's knees to her feet with her teeth. "I used to love doing that at the Academy."

They had years of this, warm, comfortable, playful sex, without consequences or fear. When Afsaneh kneels again, this time between her thighs, it's the most terrifying moment of her second life. There's no pretence, no knife under the pillow, just an incredibly beautiful woman and a whole night of pleasure.

"Trust me," Afsaneh asks her, hands on her knees. "I'm very good at this." She leaves the rest of that dark lipstick on Philippa's inner thighs, kissing her way down while fire melts her body down to molten metal that Afsaneh works like a blacksmith, building, molding, taunting her towards orgasm. She digs her fingers into her back, into her hair, then the too-smooth sheets of the bed.

Breath comes fast, than it seems like she can hardly find it at all. She never allows this, even when her slaves are absolutely loyal, but Afsaneh tastes her, traunting, and sends her flying. Heat blooms in the back of her skull like a flash grenade until it blinds her. Afsaneh holds her, kissing her while her orgasm breaks her control. Maybe she already lost it, already surrendered too far.

Her eye sting and Afsaneh brushes her tears away before they kiss again and she tastes herself. How long has that been? Will Afsaneh tastes the same as she remembers or is that also different here? The whole multiverse could collapse into Afsaneh's lips against hers and she wouldn't complain. She might not even notice.

Exploring her with her hands, she teases that place on her hip that makes Afsaneh moan, and taunts her with her fingers higher on her thighs, then hr breath, hot against her skin. Tasting her takes Philippa back to the other world, but the way this Afsaneh cries out is different.

Free.

She doesn't fear her the way her Afsaneh always did. There's no hint of performance, no Emperor to please. Only pleasure and naked skin, sweat and longing. Philippa takes her time, licking without hurry or real intent because she could listen to Afsaneh's breathing go ragged until the stars go nova. The hand in her hair makes her suck, rub her teeth against her clit and that whimper sends a rush of heat down her own spine.

Orgasm shudders through her, making her back arch like a temple of a sacred city. Afsaneh has no tears, only breathy laughter.

"Who knew you were so gentle."

Philippa strea at her, cups her cheek. She kisses her forehead, then her cheekbone. "I've never been before."

Afsaneh's hand tightens on her back, but that's her only sign of surprise. "It's not bad, is it? This soft universe."

Kissing her until she can barely breathe, Philippa falls to bed beside her, trembling. "It's terrifying."

"When I was young, and foolish, you told me that as beautiful as the stars were overhead, it was the blackness that intrigued you. Between all those little lights was the void, and it went on forever. That was the unknown, and that was why you joined Starfleet, to discover more of that darkness, to find more light." Afsaneh strokes her hair, toying with the wall it falls on Philippa's breast. "You laughed at me because I was a city girl who joined to get away from my parents and do something with my life other than keep up traditions or stuffy old rituals. I never enjoyed the dark, not until you made it beautiful."

Philippa blinks again, shutting her eyes before they betray her. "That wasn't me."

"The way you smiled between my thighs, it might be."

* * *

 

A three day refit of the navigational deflection would be frustrating, but Starbase Nineteen is the closest base, and she hasn't seen Afsaneh since the incident with Philippa, and she's the first person Michael wants to tlak to when shore leave is allowed. Captain Paris has the day off, and the computer says she's in her quarters. It's late enough in the morning to stop by, it's well after eleven hundred, and Captain Paris did remind her that they were family.

Family doesn't need an invitation. It's a very human rule, Vulcans would be very civilized in their visits, but the captain- Afsaneh- is as lonely as Michael, and losing Philippa took something from her that can't be replaced, even with another Philippa who has been a little more lucky with death.

She rings the door chime, confident for nearly a minute before doubt sets itn. She should have sent a message, arranged to have lunch. It's too awkward to just arrive at her quarters. She starts to go, she'll forget about this and maybe try for diner, and the door opens. Afsaneh's hair lies in waves on her shoulders, tumbled and mussed, and her lips are pink but her face is free of makeup. That make on her neck is very familiarly, and Michael could be back on that beach, suddenly aware that her captain's very good friend was more than a friend.

A very beautiful, distracting not-friend, almost a step-mother, in a way.

"Michael! What a lovely surprise, come in, we're just having breakfast."

 _We_?

And there she is, sitting in Afsaneh's purple robe, her hair just as wild with marks on her own on her bare shoulders. There's no Imperial aura to her at all, and that flush of embarrassment wouldn't even have happened to her Philippa.

Her Philippa was shameless with Afsaneh.

Afsaneh touches that bare shoulder and then fixed Philippa's robe. "We have a guest, dear."

"What a nice surprise." That wistfulness passes over Philippa's face and she doesn't slam it down behind her mask. She lets it stay. "It's good to see you."

"And you. It seems like you're staying out of trouble."

"Well see," Afsaneh says, grinning over a croissant. "She might have earned some kind of punishment by tonight."

Michael's face burns like a solar flare and Philippa's cheeks flash pink.

"Only if she's very very lucky."


End file.
